


A scribbled out name

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: Anniversary, F/F, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florence and Isa get tattoos for their anniversary. Written for a prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A scribbled out name

**Author's Note:**

> This is very different for me as I don’t usually write in first person. See if anyone can spot the one bit of artistic license I took ;)

I open my eyes to find Isa staring back at me. It’s very unusual that she’d be the first to wake up; she’s generally the kind of person who would sleep uninterruptedly until midday, unless someone actively drags her out of bed. But maybe she’s awash with excitement. Or maybe with dread. All I know is that she’s made me a promise and she will go through with it even if she’s terrified, because Isa is ridiculously proud like that.

It’s still early morning and it looks like we’re going to get a proper summer day. Every day, the tv says that the heatwave will give way to torrential rain, but serendipity decided that today is not that day. It’s the end of July and the weather will behave as it should.

It’s also our first year anniversary.

My vision is still blurry and the light coming into the room is blinding; I make a mental note to buy darker, thicker curtains. Isa manages to speak, and although she sounds a bit croaky, it’s clear that she’s fully awake.

“Happy anniversary,” she says. “One year. Who woulda thought.”

Of course she would say that; long relationships have always been my thing more than hers. But I’ve not had an anniversary for a while, and I’ve not had one with a girl, well, ever. It feels like I’m a different person now, looking for something different than I used to back then. Still, every relationship I’ve had, I’ve tried to make it last. Isa, on the other hand, never even contemplated doing “forever”. She’s never really been comfortable with sharing a bed and a flat for more than a few consecutive nights, and I try not to bring that up now that she’s living with me. I try not to question it – I try to just savour my luck.

I bought this house last year and Isa is actually responsible for decorating the majority of it, or I’d still be living out of boxes. If I’m ever not home for the night, she’ll text me just to say how empty the house feels without me there. She’s transformed. She’s happy. I think people see that. And, maybe in jest, maybe not, one day she happened to feel brave enough to say “If we last a year, I’m getting a tattoo”.

I remember exactly when it happened. We were having a night in, sharing a giant pizza in front of the telly. I remember thinking that we weren’t really proper grownups for as long as we were still dining on pizza and wine on our sofa. She was making me watch a Breaking Bad marathon, and then just out of the blue she said it, nonchalantly – maybe something in the show prompted it and I don’t know – but I held her to it.

One of the things I find most bizarre about Isa is that she’s a complete tattoo virgin, despite being badass in pretty much any other way that comes to mind. According to her, she has a crippling fear of needles, but that never stopped her from getting piercings in her ears. And yet her skin is still an untouched canvas.

When I brought up her promise about two weeks ago, she rolled her eyes and cringed but she didn’t pretend that she’d forgotten or anything. She was probably hoping that  _I_  had, but I honestly wasn’t going to insist: we’d just had sex and I felt a bit cheeky, that’s all.

“Fair’s fair,” she said. “Now you can all finally stop bugging me and I can see what the fuss is about.”

I suggested that she get a birdcage tattooed somewhere, as everyone else in the band has one of some sort, and she agreed on the design. At least it’s not something relationship-related that she’d regret if we broke up. It pained me a little to explain my reasoning, because I don’t really want us to break up, ever. But her reply to that was “I know forever when I see it – I just never thought it would happen to me.”

It still gives me butterflies when she implies that we’re going to be forever always. Two months into this relationship we went to a fun fair and she had the wacky idea of getting matching t-shirts that said “Florence and Isabella together forever”. She told me later that she figured if anything went wrong we could just throw them away. But nothing has, and the airbrush paint on the t-shirts faded before our feelings had a chance to.

Isa says her feelings are growing stronger instead of shrivelling in fear with each passing day. She says it with genuine surprise, and I know she’s stopped trying to explain it, to herself and to others. I’ve stopped trying to comprehend why she loves  _me_. I’m still kind of taking it all in.

* * * 

_The t-shirts were the last giveaway to those who still hadn’t cottoned on that we were together. But there weren’t many left by that point._

_I remember when Chris accidentally tried to butt into our lunch plans on our first month anniversary; Flo had completely clammed up and stared at the floor awkwardly, not knowing how to verbalise that he wasn’t exactly welcome to come along. I had to ask him if we could leave the room for a minute and then, with Florence out of earshot, I flat out told him, “We’re going on a date, actually. You can tell the others, I don’t mind. It’s not a secret.”_

_I remember him blinking, astonished, as he tried to process what he’d just heard. Despite what I told him, he never actually shared the information with anybody except Mairead. I think he was embarrassed, but he was passing it off as being respectful. Then, a few days later, Sam walked in on us kissing in the green room while we were snuggled up on a sofa. There was no mistaking that for just two friends enjoying each other’s company. She blushed and stammered and made to leave, but Flo called after her and patted the half of the sofa that was still free, like there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. It made me laugh; gestures are easier than words for Florence, I know that._

_By the time it came to the t-shirts, it was only Mark and Tom who still hadn’t figured it out. Sometimes it bugs me that guys are slower to catch on, they don’t see the nuances. Our relationship had evolved right in front of their eyes and they’d failed to see it. Only when Mark commented that we sounded like two lovesick girls, I shut him up by saying, “That’s because we are.” I gave him one of those smiles that dared him to say more. He didn’t._

_This relationship is making me feel invincible. I know I’m feisty at the best of times, but I’m becoming a better person because of it. I’m more self-confident, I stand up for myself, nothing ever makes me feel bad or unworthy. It’s like a pool of endless strength that I can draw from._

_Grace was a different kettle of fish altogether. I wasn’t involved in telling her at all, but she knows me almost as well as she knows her sister. Florence skyped her one day before we were meant to go out for lunch and a manicure and when she came to meet me in the hotel lobby, I wasn’t sure if she was laughing or crying. She was giggling, and couldn’t get through her sentences, but I could definitely see tears in her eyes. It must have been relief; I know Gracie’s respect and approval is important to her. I also know Gracie’s cheeky as hell. Seriously, all she had to say was “Why don’t you just tell it like it is and say you’re going on a date? I don’t think I’ve seen you smile this much since –” and then she’d failed to find a comparison that was more recent than ten-year-old Flo._

_I don’t think it had occurred to me until that point how happy_ I  _made Florence. I was too wrapped up in my own surprise at how easy and stress-free this relationship seemed. It was just so different from everything I was used to._

_That was everyone. The tour ended and we started a year hiatus and before I knew it, I was living with Florence and my gay friends were all giving me knowing smiles. Apparently this is some stereotype I’m supposed to know about? I’ve never been in a relationship with a girl before. I’ve never been in a relationship_ with my best friend _before. I did vicariously experience Florence in a relationship in the past, but that person doesn’t even exist anymore. She used to have this nervousness about her, this_ need _; like nothing was ever enough. But she’s not like that with me; she’s calmed down a lot. She never even asked me to move in – I just started by spending the night, once, twice, until I simply stopped returning to my flat in Crystal Palace. Which reminds me - the lease on that is expiring soon; I should really mention to Florence that I don’t see the point of renewing it._

* * * 

When we get out of bed it takes all of five seconds until we’re already huddled together for warmth; it may be July and we may be in a “heatwave”, but it’s still London and the warm sun rays don’t quite reach this spot of the bedroom.

I look down at Isa – I take a moment to acknowledge the way my heart swells thinking of just how ruffled her hair looks right this minute, and I cannot believe there was a time where seeing her like this did not come with a side of butterflies in my stomach. I ask her where she’s thinking of getting this tattoo at long last. I draw circles with my fingertip just above her hipbone and say “I was thinking around here would look nice?”

She shivers – I don’t know if she’s cold or I’m just tickling her – and she seems dead nervous. She’s averting eye contact and I give her the sternest look I can muster.

“Hey. If you’re doing this just to make me happy, you don’t have to. I know you love me. It’s me who doesn’t show you enough.”

“One, that’s just complete bollocks,” Isa answers, “and two, we’ve told everyone I’m doing this, now. I have to prove it to them, you know. Are you still getting something just to keep me company?”

“Of course I am, darling.” She has no idea what I’m planning, because I know that she’d try to talk me out of it. I wrap my arms around her and start swaying, dragging her along in a musicless dance. We do this all the time, or should I say I do? She just goes along with it. I improvise a few notes, singing that I’m never going to leave her. And that I’m going to make her breakfast in exchange for her driving all the way to Romford.

“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t just go somewhere in London,” she protests, and for the millionth time I explain that it’s because this is Chris and Rob’s favourite spot to get tattooed and I trust their recommendation.

“So? You recommend books all the time, but I don’t see Chris and Rob rushing to read them, to be honest. There’s a really famous tattoo place just by my new studio – we couldn’t have gone there?”

I freeze for a minute. She’s basically round the corner from Soho and I can just see the paparazzi chasing us the minute someone clocks who we are – who  _I_  am, really. And we’ve had this conversation before – how it’s best for people outside not to know, because there’d be backlash and I don’t know if I could handle it. I’ve done my fair share of reckless things when I was younger, but to be ridiculed because of who I love is something that would probably break me.

She knows that. She apologises without the need for me to even say what I was thinking about. She  _knows_. Sometimes I think I’m not good enough for her. She deserves to be with someone that she can love out in the open. With me, she can’t be herself at any public event that we attend as members of a band. Even at friends’ birthdays, or private parties, we always look around for cameras before we actually have the courage to sidle up closer to each other and cuddle or kiss.

I am giving myself a deadline, though: we’re out of the public eye right now, because as a band we’re on a break, but as soon as we put out some new music, I’ll work out a strategy with our publicists because there’s no way I’m spending the rest of my life in a cage of lies.

* * * 

_Florence sings for the entire length of our drive. Living with her feels like we really ought to keep hidden recorders in every room that activate with the sound of her voice. You never know when she’ll come up with the next idea that actually works and develops into a song. But all in all, we’ve done well for ourselves over the years, I think._

_Even though we’re supposedly on a break, Flo’s not the kind of person who would ever stop writing. We’re more relaxed, as we don’t have a deadline, but she still comes to me with ideas every once in a while. We’ve been writing bits and bobs ever since we stopped touring and, I don’t know what I was expecting, but not much seems to have changed about our creative process._

_Flo isn’t the type of songwriter who writes overtly about one person – she just takes different experiences and mixes them together, so you think she’s talking about someone specific but she isn’t. I know which bits of her lyrics are about Stuart, which are about Matt, and which are about no one in particular. I wonder if now she’s going to write anything about me._

_We’re discussing where it is I’m getting this blasted tattoo – behind my ear, so you won’t know it’s there unless I have my hair pulled up – when all of a sudden she confesses to something I’ll never forget._

_“You know Sweet Nothing? I wrote that for you.”_

_I turn to stare at her for as long as I’m allowed to keep my eyes off the road. I have to concentrate for a minute and remember the lyrics to that song – it’s harder sometimes if I wasn’t a part of writing it, even if I did witness it every night for almost a month when we wrapped up our tour. I wonder why she’s telling me this now and if it’s got any relevance to what we’re about to do, or to it being our anniversary, or both._

_We wouldn’t have been together when she wrote it – but it would have been the last few weeks leading up to it. And in fairness, we’d been sleeping together for a lot longer. I take it to mean that even then, she wanted more, and I don’t really know what to say._

_“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that, Flo.” I mentally add,_  but it was worth it in the end _. “I’m happy you told me, though. Thank you.”_

_Before she can ask ‘For what’, I explain “For not giving up on us.”_

_When we get to the shop, Flo goes in first, and I can see her getting giddy like a child as she speaks to a slight, pierced girl whose hair puts mine to shame: it is literally every colour of the rainbow. I always get along better with guys, so I wonder why Florence picked her of all people, because this does nothing to make me feel at ease. Maybe it’s that the design is kind of girly? Flo just stands there in a daze with her hand splayed out on the desk as the girl copies the birdcage off her finger onto some transfer paper; her head is tilted slightly to one side and she hums._

_When they let me into their working space, she stays behind to talk to one of the guy tattooists, and I need to remind myself no one’s expecting her to come and hold my hand, I’m nearly 33 years old for fuck’s sake. The girl moves my hair to one side and gently runs a razor over my skin, then she sticks the transfer paper onto it and asks if I’m happy with the placement. I don’t look up at the mirror that she’s holding. I look at Florence instead and see her smiling at me and giving me a thumbs up and blowing me a kiss._

_The blood freezes in my veins as we both know what a public display of affection might lead to, but it seems that no one else in the room has taken any notice and before I know it, I’m curled up on a padded chair and I hear the humming noise of the needle getting closer. I can’t see what’s going on, but it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought. It feels like someone’s scratching at my skin and going over the same bits over and over again._

_Flo’s just finished talking to her artist and he’s letting her into the workspace but she ends up sitting right behind me so I don’t have a clue what they agreed on._

* * * 

I end up being the one who gets the tattoo on her hipbone. I need it to be sort of hidden and that’s one area that no matter what I wear, is generally covered up. I’m used to having my legs out, my back – heck, sometimes even more décolletage that I’m comfortable with – but I hardly ever show my belly. So that’s where it goes.

Isa seems to be doing fine. My head is craned towards her, but I see the tattooist’s back more than I see hers. I actually have to close my eyes sometimes because the pain is more than I thought I could handle. My arm tattoo is massive compared to this, yet I don’t remember it being so fucking uncomfortable.

I see Isa sitting upright and the girl telling her to stand still as she goes to get cling film and maladroitly sticks it to the area behind her ear. “You alright?” I holler. She shouts yes back, but doesn’t trust herself to move, bless her.

I know she’s completely going to flip her shit at me when she sees what I’ve done, so I tell her not to turn around while my guy puts the finishing touches on the script and cleans it up one last time.

“Flo? What the fuck did you do?” I hear the panic in her voice, but I know it’s not bad, she hasn’t used my full name – yet.

There’s this thing on the internet called  _shipping_. Our friend Jeremy explained it to us. Basically, there were people who wanted Isa and I to be together since before any of this actually happened. I wonder how that’s possible, if they picked up on any signs before we did ourselves? Truth be told, Isa and I did sleep together a few times before anything became official. I’m not very good at talking about my feelings so I pretended I was fine with whatever. But Isa’s not like that. She says what’s on her mind. And one evening, exactly a year ago today, she cornered me and said, “I need to get something off my chest.”

I thought it was going to go the opposite way. I thought she was going to say we had to stop having sex but the words that came out of her mouth were: “I’m falling for you, Flo, and I need to know what you think about that.” I never in a million years expected her to say that, but I was feeling exactly the same. That’s what we’re celebrating today, really: Isa having enough guts for the both of us.

So, anyway, Jeremy told us that there were people – strangers – who somehow seemed to know or guessed that this was going to happen, before we even did. And like Brangelina, we have our very own, smushed couple name: Florabella. You won’t catch me admitting to this in public, but I secretly quite like it, it sounds feminine and pretty.

I got this script on my hip because at the end of the day, Isa is a huge part of me. I’m nearly 27 and she’s been in my life for over a third of it. I’m not worried about breaking up, just like I wasn’t worried when I had Sophie’s nickname tattooed on my arm that we might one day have a falling out. Life is too short to worry about what could possibly go wrong. Isa showed me that by taking a risk when I didn’t want to, and I’m taking a risk for her now. I’m not even going to bother telling anyone else – she’s the only one who has to know.

Later that night, my skin itches like sunburn as she massages soapy water on it with a single finger and plays with the waistband of my knickers.

“I cannot believe you did this,” she scolds me, but an incredulous smile tugs at one corner of her mouth. “It’s like you’re dooming our relationship or something. If you wanted to break up you could have just told me.”

I grab her wrist and search for the words to explain that I will never in a million years regret this. It would mean disowning the years of creative partnership, the two albums, the tours, the sleepless nights and the blissful ones. It would imply that her presence in my life is something I might one day write off as a mistake, and that is the most ridiculous assumption anyone could ever make about us.

But I don’t come up with anything, and I wonder if I haven’t accidentally spoiled our anniversary; I couldn’t forgive myself.

* * * 

_I didn’t mean to upset her, but as I take in the swirly lines that spell out_ Florabella  _on her flesh, I’m hit by the enormity of our history as friends, collaborators, and then lovers. I left a mark on her life, whether I like it or not, whether I wanted it or not. And she’s changed mine. Maybe I_ should  _have got something in celebration of her, of how we are intertwined, of how our success depends on us being a team._

_My own tattoo hardly even itches; I went from being the scared one of the two to babying a grown woman – an international superstar at that – while she makes a big whimpering fuss at me rubbing E45 into her skin._

_My heartbeat drums her name into my chest and I think of how final this all feels, is it a year, really? Or is it more accurate to say that the last 10 years of my life have been devoted to Florence, to our music? My happiest moments were with her, tour bants, anecdotes from recording together, winning awards; the first time I allowed myself to tell her I was in love with her out loud._

_She summed it all up in one word and she keeps it close and secreted and it gives her strength, like her voice gives me._

_“Isa, I’m sorry if you don’t like it.” Her voice breaks and I know that she can be a drama queen, but I don’t doubt the sincerity of her fear. I’ve seen her torture herself the same way with her important boyfriends: she’s terrified of putting a foot wrong, of making a mistake that cannot be rectified. She’s terrified to be abandoned, as if I could ever leave her behind. Even at her most frustrating, she’s still Flo;_ my  _Flo._

_“It really suits you, actually,” I put the cream back in the cupboard and stand up as straight as I can, appreciating the perfection of the bare stretch of skin between the hem of her t-shirt and that of her underwear. I place my hands on her hips before her hiss reminds me that she’s still sore on one side, and she looks down at me and I can tell she’s searching for reassurance, for some sign that I really mean what I said._

_The words bubble up into my brain; I’ve thought them a million times already, but I’ve never had the guts to say them and I don’t know why_ now  _feels like an appropriate moment. It’s not because I think something grand has to be done for anniversaries; quite the opposite. I feel really self conscious celebrating the amount of time I’ve managed not to fuck up. It just makes me feel very aware that I still can: I can ruin it all and I probably will._

_But on the off chance that I don’t; on the off chance that we drive each other mad, day in, day out and yet, at the end of the day, still want to be together; on the off chance that I_ don’t  _fuck it up and neither does Florence, the idea leaves my lips before I can stop it, and for a moment, I’m not even scared._

_I look up at her and inch closer, tightening my grip on the one side of her waist I’m still holding. My other arm hangs loosely at my side and I look for her hand._

_“Flo…” I say, when her fingers are safely linked with mine. “I think we should get married.”_


End file.
